


Portent

by thebasement_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1998-07-31
Updated: 1998-07-31
Packaged: 2018-11-21 00:47:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11346540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebasement_archivist/pseuds/thebasement_archivist
Summary: Set between *Sleepless* and *Duane Barry*. Mulder and Krycek have a heart to heart in an enclosed space.





	Portent

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

 

Portent by DB Kate

Sun, 8 Mar 1998  
Summary: Set between *Sleepless* and *Duane Barry*, Mulder & Krycek have a heart to heart in an enclosed space.   
Category/Rating: Slash/NC-17 - Mulder/Krycek  
SPOILERS: Sleepless, Duane Barry, Ascension  
WARNING: This contains m/m sexual content. If this offends you, please hit *delete*.

* * *

Portent  
by DB Kate  


"Open up, Mulder!"

Fox Mulder turned curiously toward the passenger window of his old Ford. Through the heavy downpour that was pounding against the roof and glass, he could have sworn he'd heard a yell. He squinted through the dark, saw nothing, shrugged and turned back to his watch, a night of viewing the stars in the middle of an open field.

"Mulder!"

There it was again. Accompanied by a furious banging against the window. Mulder turned on the indoor car light and saw the outline of his partner, Alex Krycek, looking very wet.

And very pissed.

Mulder squinted again and rolled down the window a crack ."What are you doing out in the rain, Krycek?"

Krycek's cheek twitched as he replied. "Looking for you, Mulder."

Mulder shrugged with a smile. "Guess you found me. Care to come in?"

"That would be nice," snapped Krycek, the furious, wet torrent making him sputter and cough.

Mulder grinned and popped open the lock.

"Where the hell have you been?" gasped Krycek, as he entered the car with a huff. He was breathing hard and looking completely drenched, with droplets rolling from his brow, down his cheeks, glistening and dripping from his chin.

"Here," answered Mulder, casually.

"Doing what?"

"Looking."

"Looking at *what*?" asked Krycek furiously, shaking the water off of his hands with short, disgusted motions. It was a futile gesture, for he was soaked through to the skin, and water was dripping everywhere, from his hair down to the cuffs of his pants.

"Pons-Winnecke," replied Mulder, staring out the windshield, cracking a sunflower seed between his teeth.

"Oh, Pons-Winnecke," echoed Krycek, irritably. He turned to his partner furiously. "Mulder, we have a *case*. I've been scouring downtown looking for Winslow for the past eight hours, while you've been sitting here staring out your car window at....at..."

"Pons-Winnecke," repeated Mulder, tossing the shell into his ashtray. "Comet. You just missed it. It was pretty clear before it started raining. It comes around every six years or so. Nearly hit the earth in 1921. Came *that* close."

Mulder held out his thumb and forefinger toward Krycek, with less than a centimeter of space between them. 

Krycek looked at him incredulously. "Mulder, did you hear me? We have a case. We have to find Winslow, remember? The guy who's murdering all those nuns? Remember him?"

"We don't have to find Winslow."

Krycek made a horrible, exasperated sound. "What the hell are you talking about? Of course we have to find him. Why wouldn't we want to?"

"Because Winslow didn't do it."

"What?"

"It was Merlot. The matches, the circle of ash...it was him all along. Winslow's incrimination was his doing. Think about it. The scorched habits...the blackened beads? I just spoke with local investigators and they picked him up about three hours ago. He confessed almost immediately. I suppose as a Catholic he was used to confessing."

Krycek sighed deeply. "Great. And when did you plan on calling and telling *me* this wonderful news?"

Mulder looked thoughtful. "Probably tomorrow morning. Maybe during lunch."

Krycek's shoulders slumped. What the hell was the use? But I guess it doesn't matter anyway, he thought grimly.

Doesn't matter at all.

Krycek glanced over at Mulder, his profile careless and sharp in the dim car light. He bit his lip and shifted uncomfortably in the now soaked car seat.

"So what's the big deal about a comet?" Krycek asked, with closed eyes, tilting back against the headrest, and grimacing, as rainwater from his hair rolled down the back of his shirt.

Mulder continued to stare out the window through the downpour. "Comets are more than hundred-mile-long balls of ice, Krycek. They're portents. Portents of kings, their births and deaths. Portents of war, famine, and blood." 

He hesitated. "Portents of betrayal."

Betrayal. Krycek inhaled sharply and felt the sharp edge of guilt run down his jaw. He looked at Mulder, and wondered if he knew. Perhaps he instinctively knew, what was to come.

For Krycek's betrayal would most certainly be like a comet striking. Cataclysmic...

And inevitable.

But Mulder wasn't looking at him. He was still staring at the stars, dim, blurry points of light barely making it through the slick wash of heavy rainfall sliding down the windshield. Krycek turned away, feeling truly cold and miserable now, his clothes sticking to his body and remorse sticking in his throat. He shivered and yanked off his tie with an annoyed gesture. The cloth strip was uncomfortable in the best of circumstances, now it became instrument of torture.

Mulder winced as a tiny spray of water slapped him when Krycek tossed it aside. He turned to him with a wry grin. "I have my bag with me. You can have a change of clothes, if you want," said Mulder, turning and lifting a carry-all from the back seat with a grunt. "But not the Elvis shirt. Got that?"

"Got that," replied Krycek, pushing soaked hair away from his forehead. He began to shiver in earnest. He started to think about hypothermia and pain of frostbite, where the cells of the body actually turn into tiny bits of ice.

He thought about souls and how they, too, could turn into ice.

"No one gets the Elvis shirt. Naked, freezing infants don't get the Elvis shirt," continued Mulder, as he unzipped the bag. "However, you can have this lovely Hawaiian button-down. "

Krycek grimaced at the hideous cacophony of colors that were being dangled in front of him. "I'd rather not."

"Coward," sniffed Mulder, putting it back in and digging deeper into the bag. "Here, the requisite black tee and green swim trunks. However, you won't be anywhere near as fashionable as you could have been."

"I just want to be dry," replied Krycek, grabbing the T-shirt and shorts, stuffing them between the dashboard and windshield. "I'll be *fashionable* tomorrow."

"You're not going to have the shirt tomorrow."

"Precisely," replied Krycek, stripping off his suit jacket. It came off with a struggle, the heavy, wet cloth sticking to his dress shirt. As he shoved it aside, and out of the corner of his eye, he noticed something unusual.

Mulder was watching him.

Krycek shook his head and reprimanded himself. Wishful thinking, pal...wishful thinking. He continued to undress carelessly, trying to ignore the aching shiver in his chest. Mulder, Mulder, why does every sign you look at point you so hopelessly in the wrong direction, he thought with an inward sigh.

And why do I care?

He peeled off the soaked, translucent undershirt and glanced once more to his left.

And could hardly believe his eyes.

There was no mistaking it. Mulder was certainly watching him undress, his face utterly serene, leaning back against the driver's car door and staring with an unblinking gaze. Krycek felt himself grow warm, then hot, flushed with embarrassment and then something else. He became flustered, shaking slightly as the rain began to pound on the car roof. The zipper on his pants stuck, the wet cloth becoming hopelessly entangled in the metal teeth. He struggled with it and it refused to budge under the clumsy efforts of his cold fingers.

"Damn it," he cursed softly under his breath, as the cloth tore.

"Need help?" asked Mulder, and before Krycek could reply there were strong fingers on the zipper, deftly tugging at the caught fabric and pulling down the zipper at the same time. It opened with a hasty zip and Krycek felt himself being turned into Mulder's hands, his legs being gently raised as Mulder, looking directly into his eyes, slid them off.

Krycek was barely breathing now. This was no longer wishful thinking. For there he was...naked, splayed out across the seat, his body shivering, no longer with cold, but with the heat of his own breaths and two close bodies trapped in the small car. Krycek began to tremble, unable to speak.

"You're very wet," said Mulder, running the palm of his hand up Krycek's stomach, his fingers combing through the smooth line of damp hair.

Oh, God.

Krycek gasped, his eyes huge, and his body frozen in place, feeling as though he'd been born like this, paralyzed from the neck down. Mulder took no notice, but ran a careful hand down the top of Krycek's thigh. He flicked at hairs and then began to rub, gently massaging the tense muscle. He was absolutely intent on what he was doing, and didn't appear to see the entire body beneath him tremble under his touch or the cock in front of him, hard and flushed deep red against the pale skin of Krycek's abdomen.

He shifted forward and began to rub both legs with his hands, with short, deep movements. The hands moved down between Krycek's legs, to the inner thighs, and Krycek found his voice. He groaned and his head tossed back, hitting the glass behind him, but he felt nothing. Nothing but Mulder's relentless hands torturing him. He couldn't move, he couldn't shift or turn, or even stand up to leave. He was laid out and displayed, with two quiet hands opening him, turning him inside out, and Mulder still didn't seem to notice.

"Does this bother you?" asked Mulder, now running his hands over the cool, slim hips, kneading them slightly.

Krycek shook his head and lifted himself, as in offering. Come on Mulder, he thought. Come on, just do it. Don't leave me here to drown like this. I was cold, I can still become warm. My soul can still be saved. Come on, Mulder. Just do it.

As if he'd heard him, Mulder lowered his lips to Krycek's cock. He pulled Krycek's hips up tightly, and ran his mouth gently over the top, his tongue just flicking at the hot velvet and wet salt at the tip. Krycek made a strangled sound and put his hands around the back of Mulder's neck, urging him down. Mulder ignored the pressure and continued the small licks, only occasionally lapping with his whole tongue. He put his hand between Krycek's legs and carefully held him there, two small, soft weights nestled in his palm.

The hands of the back of Mulder's neck gave up and Krycek began to whimper...small pleading sounds, begging for release in any form. He squirmed against the car seat, desperately trying to initiate contact in the now hot, confined space. 

Mulder smiled and slid up Krycek's body, the fabric of his clothing scratching against Krycek's bare skin. He met the mouth of the man beneath him, gently scraping his teeth against Krycek's lips, not quite kissing him, but not quite refusing either.

"Do you like this?" Mulder asked, leaning over and whispering in Krycek's ear. He could feel Krycek nod against his shoulder, trembling and breathing harshly, his hips, now bucking, refusing to stay still.

"Are you sure?" Another nod.

"Good," said Mulder, with a quiet smile. He put his hand under Krycek's neck and with one swift motion, scooped him up toward him. He crushed his mouth to Krycek's and for a single, dizzying moment Krycek honestly believed that he no longer had a need for air.

This must be a sign. I can be saved, thought Krycek. If only...

But all thought stopped when Mulder's head bent and caught a nipple between his teeth. Krycek moaned loudly and ground his hips against the fully-clothed body that pressed him deeply into the leather seat. But Mulder ignored him and continued to slowly lick back down Krycek's taut body, wet once more, but now with a slick sheen of sweat, the rainwater gone, evaporated long ago.

Without warning, Mulder plunged his mouth onto Krycek's cock.

"Oh, Christ!" Krycek cried out, things beginning to swirl in the darkness behind his shut eyes, his hips grinding against the mouth that assaulted him. "Mulder, for God's sake..."

Mulder continued to suck, sharply, without any thought or delicacy, his teeth scraping the underside of Krycek's cock, with one hand roughly handling the sac between Krycek's legs, the other manipulating himself with short, furious motions. Soon there was nothing, but heat, sweat, condensation, and Krycek's short cries, his head twisting against the leather. Disjointed thoughts tumbled through his mind.

So close...I can be...this is a sign. Yes..it is, it must...

When Krycek came, he saw a bright light, shooting and then fading slowly in the distance. He heard Mulder's muffled groan and felt a warm wetness splay onto his thigh. For a long moment Krycek lie still, feeling nothing but the odd sensation of floating in a warm river, without thought or care. He was vaguely aware that Mulder's body had slid up over his own, and he felt a pair of lips take his, this time gently, with a soft hand pushing the wet hair from his forehead.

Krycek sighed into Mulder's shoulder and could almost see his smile.

"So, Alex, maybe it was a portent," Mulder whispered in his ear, his short laugh tickling Krycek's lobe.

"Maybe," replied Krycek, weakly. He closed his eyes tightly and embraced the man above him. Mulder kissed him once more and Krycek suddenly saw an unwelcome vision.

A vision of a garden.

A kiss.

And a betrayal.

His eyes opened with a jerk. And past Mulder's shoulder, outside of the windshield he saw it. The bright, endless line of the comet, huge and furious, burning overhead as if daring him to ignore its portent.

And deny two fates.

X X X X X X X X X X X X 

All comments welcome.


End file.
